


Debts to Pay

by firefright, Skalidra



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boss/Employee Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Flirting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 09:46:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19423462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: Taking over the Iceberg Lounge as a public figure in Gotham was always going to have its drawbacks for Jason. Losing the anonymity that comes with being thought of as dead by the general populace is one of them, and making himself a target for Batman another. All of which means the Red Hood needs to lie low for a while, but in the meantime, Jason still needs someone to do his dirty work for him. Deathstroke is the best in the business, and for something as important as this, only the best is good enough.





	Debts to Pay

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is another fic inspired by recent canon, as Jason taking over the Iceberg Lounge from Penguin just cried out for some enforcer Slade action, no? Hope you all enjoy XD

“Can I pour you a drink?” is the first question Jason asks, standing across the room from probably one of the more dangerous people he's met in a long, long life of being around dangerous people.

Slade Wilson. Deadly, efficient, and currently one of the best fits for his particular needs. Ideally, both their needs, if he can sell that. From what he hears, Slade needs somewhere to lay low until public interest dies down, and Jason needs someone to do the work that he can't, with Red Hood officially off the table for right now. As soon as Bruce hears he's back, anyway; shouldn't take more than a minute after his big announcement.

Slade takes a slow, obvious scan of the room as he crosses it, one hand in the pocket of very nice, very clearly expensive slacks, the other hanging loose at his side. “Sure. Got something more interesting than champagne in that bar?”

It's a little nerve-wracking, having Deathstroke coming at him without any of his normal armor or weaponry to stand in the way, but he keeps his voice calm as he answers. “Probably. What do you want?”

Yes, Wilson's dangerous, but he's also predictable, to a point. He lives by his own code; he doesn't kill anyone that hasn't gone after him first, or that he hasn't been paid to. Far as Jason knows, he doesn't fit either of those descriptors, at least not recently.

“Something dark.”

Something dark? That doesn’t exactly narrow it down. Jason thinks for a moment, considering the kind of man he knows Slade to be, before taking a calculated risk and selecting a black bottle whiskey from the bar and pouring it neat.

Judging by the way Slade smirks as he reaches to take the glass from him, he must have made the correct choice. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Jason helps himself to one as well for appearance’s sake, even though he’s not really planning on drinking too much of it. “Shall we sit?”

Slade shrugs, slow and easy as he sips his drink, “Whatever you prefer.”

Jason chooses to answer that by crossing to the sunken seating area in the room and casually dropping down onto the largest couch. In his time, Cobblepot had preferred the intimidation of wealth and opulence to make his power known against his opponents, rather than the brute intimidation of a desk. Jason both hates and appreciates its effectiveness.

He waits until Slade’s taken a seat on the one opposite him before speaking again.

“So, you know who I am.”

“Hm,” Slade looks amused, “As in, Jason Todd, recently returned foster son of Bruce Wayne? Or Jason Todd, former Robin and the Red Hood?”

“All of the above,” Jason answers, inclining his head towards him. “Just to be sure we’re both on the same page before we get into the details here.”

“Yes.” Slade takes another drink. “The details. Tell me more about this job you want to hire me for.”

“Simple retainer. Kill or scare who I want you to, do some dirty work and enforcing, and I'll give you a regular paycheck.” The whiskey's strong, when he takes a sip. Burns a little on the way down. “I'd say a couple months at first. Then, depending on where things go, maybe I hire you for a few more. If you're still interested at that point.”

One of Slade's legs lifts to hook an ankle over his other knee, movement as idle as his gaze. “Mm. Being an assistant isn't my usual choice of contracts. Why not do it yourself? You're a professional too, kid, aren't you?”

The little swirl of bitterness in his chest is easy enough to brush aside. “Red Hood's not welcome in Gotham at the moment. I need someone to be out there where I can’t, and I hear that you need to lie low for a bit, given you've got a warrant out for your arrest, and your name and face plastered all over the place. I can give you a secure place to do that, if you work for me.”

Slade’s eye narrows. “I don’t need anyone to do me favors, kid.”

“It’s not a favor,” Jason answers, making sure to keep his head up and his own expression casual, “It’s a job. Or an exchange, if that makes you feel more comfortable. Regular cash plus a few extra employee benefits.”

“‘Employee benefits,'” Slade repeats, and there’s something about the way he says the words — long and drawn out — that makes a shiver run down Jason’s spine. “I do like the sound of those.”

“Anything you need, I can provide. Within reason, of course.”

“Within reason.” Slade swirls his glass. “You know my fees?”

“I wouldn’t have bothered contacting you in the first place if I didn’t.”

“Good. I’ll take my payment weekly, then, with the understanding that when I want to leave, I can leave, with no further obligation to you.”

It’s not perfect, but it’s something. “Done. As soon as you send me your account information, I’ll wire you the first installment.” It’s a good thing that he’s been accumulating a fortune for years, from wherever he could pull it. Even just week by week, keeping Slade on call isn’t going to be cheap. He’ll manage, though. He always does.

Slade takes a swallow of the whiskey, then sets the glass down and leans back into the couch, arms stretching over the back of it. “Then let’s talk about these ‘employee benefits.’ I’ll need somewhere to work out of, first and foremost. I have a couple stashes of gear I can bring in, but I might need some specialized pieces as well, depending on what work you want to have me doing. Is it Deathstroke you’re hiring, kid, or just me?”

“Is there a difference in price?” Jason asks, not entirely hiding his sarcasm.

The curl of Slade’s mouth is subtle, and more than a little dangerous. “No.”

No, of course not. Slade’s as capable outside of his armor as he is in it.

Jason makes himself smile back, just as subtle. “Then I’ll take them both.”

That gets him an amused chuckle. Slade’s gaze flicks over him, quick, but still piercing enough that Jason has to force himself to stay still under it, and not show any sign that he’s unnerved. Which he is, a little. Fuck, he’s faced down some scary people, but usually not bare-faced. The one little gun tucked in against the small of his back is not going to do jack shit if Slade, for whatever reason, decided to kill him.

(Jason’s heard he’s been in Arkham. He’s not acting like he’s crazy, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Then again, doesn’t necessarily mean anything that he was in Arkham either. Arkham doesn’t always mean crazy.)

“Alright, kid, you have yourself a deal.” All at once, Slade eases, the predatory casualness of him turning into an actual sprawl. “So, you have a place in mind, or need to find one?”

He finds his own shoulders relaxing a little, relief and satisfaction making it a little easier to breathe deeply. “Oh, I’ve got somewhere. It’s got a little bit of an infestation, though. You don’t mind clearing that out first, right?”

Interest, sharp and sudden. “Infestation, hm? I take it that clearing out this… pest, is the first task you have lined up?”

"That's right." Jason leans forward to set his glass down, before he gets to his feet. "You done clean-up before, or just the extermination?"

Slade takes another sip before he stands as well, glass held loosely in his fingertips, down by one thigh. "Oh, I'm familiar with all the pieces of the process." He steps around the edge of the table, free hand hooking a thumb into a pocket. "If you've got that account of yours handy, I can give you the routing number for one of mine. Then we can get more in detail about this pest of yours."

He pulls his phone from his pocket, flashes it. "I'll pull it up."

It's a matter of a simple few moments to open the app for one of his most hidden accounts, suitably out of the way in case of any digging by the rest of his family. Safe enough to use for a transfer, assuming that Slade's end is equally secure, and it damn well should be. Far as Jason knows, no one's ever fully tracked Deathstroke's funds. But then, who'd dare unless they really, really wanted a pissed off mercenary on their tail?

Bruce might. Dick might. Takes a certain lack of care for your own well-being, definitely.

"Ready when you are."

Slade rattles it off smoothly, swirling the last swallow or two of the whiskey in the glass. It only takes a few moments to punch in. The transfer runs, loads, and finally authorizes. There's no reason it shouldn't have, but actually seeing the confirmation is still relieving. Final step done; he's got Slade on payroll, at least for the next week.

He takes a breath. "Done."

Jason means to flip the phone and hold it up, show off the proof of the authorization screen, but before he can Slade steps up next to him, looking down over his shoulder. Close enough Jason can feel the faint fan of his breath over the side of his neck, and can't quite bring himself to move as Slade's hand comes to the back of his and angles it to better show the phone's screen. It feels like if he breathes too deeply he'll brush up against Slade, so he stays still, waiting the few long moments it takes for Slade to be satisfied with what he sees.

"Looks good," Slade murmurs, low and way too close to his ear. His hand draws away, but he stays close. "Now where is this pest you need taken care of?"

He can't help swallowing, before he turns his head a little. He keeps his voice low, inaudible to the no-doubt voyeur of the conversation. "Penguin used to own this place. Fish tank's fake; one-way window looking out from a panic room. He ran in there when I came calling, didn't realize he could be locked in, I guess."

"And you can get it open?"

"Yes. It's all primed. Glass opens up right behind the desk, from the left side." He lowers his phone, tucks it away in his pocket. "Only takes a couple button presses; just need to be at my laptop."

"Mm. Don't flinch."

He barely has the time to open his mouth, to ask what that means, before Slade's hand touches his back. He sucks in a breath instead of speaking, stiffening a little as Slade's hand slips lower, under the edge of his suit jacket, and— Pulls his gun from its spot at the small of his back. Okay, yeah. That's alright. He's pretty much sure that Slade's not the kind of man to shoot someone after already having taken payment from them, so if he takes the gun, that's… fine.

"Good to see you're careful, kid. Won't mind if I borrow this to take care of your little problem, right?"

"Not at all," he manages, faking a casualness that he definitely doesn't feel. "I'll get the door."

By the time he steps away and glances back, the gun's shielded behind the turn of Slade's body, other hand already lifting the glass to his lips. Being careful enough to make sure that Penguin doesn't see it coming; good start.

Jason circles the fake-ice monstrosity of a desk to get to his laptop, waking it with a tap of the power button. Everything's already pulled up where he needs it, his laptop hooked into the panic room's system, the doors and everything else about it fully under his command. He could have shut off the ventilation, or pumped in some kind of gas, but… He wants to see it. There's a dark, bitter part of him that wants _Oswald_ to see the death coming, this time without an escape. Gas is too impersonal.

His dad… It’s things that are better left in the dust. Penguin can join them there.

The other half of it is pragmatic. When Bruce comes for him, and he absolutely will, it’ll pay to be able to truthfully say that he didn’t kill Penguin. Had killed, sure, but didn’t do it himself. Penguin’s the kind of guy that he might normally let slide, out of respect for his family’s wishes, but… Well, Bruce burned that bridge with some pretty intense finality. Respect doesn’t cut it anymore.

Slade wanders off to the side of the fake fish tank, casual in the unhurried idleness of his pace, as if it has nothing to do with positioning himself to be out of Penguin’s line of sight. Jason leans his hip against the desk, a hand against the keyboard as he looks to Slade. The glass is drained, set on the floor, and Slade raises the gun and meets his gaze evenly.

A tap of his fingers releases the door.

It’s fast. The ‘fish tank’ slides to the side with a hiss of air, and Slade moves with all the confident speed of the professional he is. He vanishes inside the panic room, to the tune of an outraged, panicked squawk, and there’s two quick gunshots. By the time Jason turns, and the door finishes opening, it’s done.

His gaze skips over the splash of red, the two neat holes; forehead and heart. Clean, efficient, nothing like the anger-blind shot he took at Cobblepot, months ago. It’s what he deserved; he’s not Joker, but Penguin’s killed more than enough to cross the point of no return. More than anyone should be allowed to without being taken down. There has to be a line, somewhere. There has to be a price.

The tap of Slade’s shoes tears Jason’s gaze away from the body, up to where Slade is coming back towards him. Unhurried, single eye turned down towards the gun before it lifts to him.

This time he doesn’t startle as Slade steps closer than is strictly comfortable. His gaze flicks to the side as Slade lifts the gun, thumbing the safety back on with a familiar click. Somehow, Jason’s not surprised when Slade shifts closer and reaches around him to tuck it back in beneath his jacket instead of just, say, handing it back so he can do it himself.

“It’s an interesting choice of lodging,” Slade drawls, leaning his hip into the edge of the desk. “Fully stocked, full view of the room, access to all the security feeds. I’ll see everything you do. Hear all your business. You sure that’s what you want, kid?”

“You’ll be more efficient if you know everything that’s going on. Little lack of privacy is worth that, I think.”

It’s true, more or less. But more importantly, he wants Slade somewhere he can track him, and stop anyone else from keeping track of him. Bruce, clearly, doesn’t know about the panic room considering he hasn’t yet found Penguin. If he can keep it that way, that gives him a free hiding place, if he needs it. Also, somewhere to keep Slade in case the cops get some ‘tip’ to come search his place.

“You sure you want to be somewhere that I can trap you?” he counters, holding Slade’s gaze.

There’s no reaction to that, except a thin smirk. “Kid, the only way you could trap me is if I wanted to stay. You wouldn’t be the first to try, though.”

Jason snorts. “Can hardly call it trapping you if you choose to stay, can I?”

“Only if you want to sooth your ego.”

He turns to push the top of his laptop down, letting the click serve as punctuation to the back and forth. It should lock, and at least temporarily keep Slade out of his business. “Thanks but no thanks. In this case, I think I’ll keep my hands to myself. I prefer a willing participant rather than a captive one.”

Slade’s smirk curls a bit higher, and his voice drops into a lower register. “Oh, on that, I couldn’t agree more.”

His gaze flicks down, and abruptly, Jason realises the different ways in which what he just said could be taken. Against his will, he feels a hot flush run across his cheeks. He bites his tongue to stop himself from saying anything stupid. It's just teasing. He's done the same to other men he wanted distracted; a little flirt goes a long way towards making a man defensive of his straightness. (Doesn't work as well with women, unless he's bare-faced and playing at being charming.)

It’s not a tactic he expected from Slade, that’s all. Ex-military, mercenary, tall, powerful, white, older generation, midwest upbringing… If Jason really had to guess he would have said that Slade would be on the defensive side, maybe even verging towards homophobic.

Honestly, he’s glad that’s apparently not the case. Would have been a tinderbox waiting to blow, having Slade and Michael working that close. Not to mention what might have happened when Slade found out about his own nebulous sexuality. It’s good that he can put that out of his mind as a potential issue.

"Good," he says, refusing to give any more satisfaction than his flush already has. "Then we're set, unless you need anything else?"

"Just one thing…” Slade taps the edge of his laptop with the back of two fingers. "Access to the controls for the panic room. I have work to do, and some essentials to bring in; unless you're planning on supervising all of it."

Jason turns towards the desk. "No, better if I don't know the specifics. Here, I'll show you the password for the laptop; the interface for the panic room controls is already up, you can do what you want with it. And just to make it clear, everything else is locked under different security. Appreciate it if you didn't try and hack it."

Slade hums, leaning in to look over his shoulder as he gets the laptop open and unlocked again. Jason tries to ignore how close he is, how he can feel the warmth of Slade's chest radiating out against his arm. Knowing it was just teasing doesn't mean that it hasn't made him hyper aware of the proximity. It's weird, being so aware. He's not— He really hasn't had time to figure out what he likes, when it comes to men. Women, sure, but men… Slade sure as fuck doesn't match anyone else that's made him look twice. Maybe it's just—

"Relax, kid. No one's paying me to be interested in your secrets."

It takes a second, and a sickening lurch of his stomach, for Jason to connect that to the demand to not hack his files, and _not_ what he was thinking about. He swallows, makes himself take a breath and stop _thinking_ about things that haven't got any business being in his head right now, before pointing out, "Yeah, and you'd definitely tell me if they were. So, the password—”

"I got it."

Jason blinks, turning his head to look up at Slade as he straightens back up and stops looming. "You what?"

One white eyebrow arches. "You typed it in; I saw it. Go attend to whatever business you've got waiting for you. By morning, everything will be done."

Okay, noted. No passwords in front of Slade. Ever. Not unless he's fine with Slade knowing them, anyway.

He tries to keep how he straightens up smooth, and not show too much of how much he's recalculating what he knows about Slade's enhancements. "Alright, then I'll see you in the morning." For a second, he debates offering a handshake, even saying how much he's 'looking forward' to working with him. Doesn't take more than a second to throw it out as insincere bullshit that Slade's not going to believe for a moment.

"One question, kid." He pauses, and then follows Slade's tilt of the chin towards the open door of the panic room. "Any kind of a message you're sending with this?"

For a flash, it’s tempting. String him up somewhere, make sure everyone knows that Penguin is dead and gone, permanently this time. He _wants_ that, but it’s not smart. It ruins his plausible deniability for taking over the casino, for one.

He inhales, smooths away that last bit of bitterness in his throat. “No. No one needs to know.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Slade steps to the side, giving him a clear shot towards the door. “Sleep well, kid.”

Yeah, not going to be a problem. He’s got much worse things to have nightmares about than giving one crime lord an overdue death.

“I will.”

* * *

The kid's a little surprised, when Slade makes good on his word to have everything cleaned up by the morning. He does try to hide it, but Slade's well practiced at reading people that don't want to be read. Especially the Bat's wayward kids. Todd’s not the same flavor as Grayson, but they have their share of similarities.

Smart, dangerous, and enough daddy issues to write a novel about between the two of them. Grayson’s prettier, but Todd’s got a nice lethal edge to him, and a more nuanced view of morality. There are certainly pros and cons to working with either of them, but so far Todd’s proving to have a few less cons than Grayson. Definitely less likely to try to get him arrested, at least, or try and muzzle him with the constraints of being ‘good’ while he works.

They certainly share one con, however, and it drops down on Slade halfway back to Todd’s new casino. Early evening, a rooftop just because Slade’s not keen on traversing the streets any normal way with his face plastered on every street pole in a ten mile radius.

(A shame that Gotham PD chose this one time to actually be efficient. Things would be easier, if that wasn’t the case.)

“Still a little early for you, isn’t it?” Slade calls over his shoulder, the moment he hears the light thud of impact behind him.

Spotted the plane coming in a couple minutes back, but the Bat does like to pretend that he’s always got the advantage of surprise. Let him; it won’t change fact. That plane’s got all the latest stealth tech it can handle, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s a streak of black in a sky dyed orange and purple from all the pollution in the air. Not subtle, when the cloud cover deigns to go away for a day or two.

Then again, the Bat isn’t usually the one out and about before night falls. How flattering, to be counted as special enough to break that pattern for. He expected it, though. That’s the only reason he changed into the Ikon suit upon picking up his gear from its temporary storage. Better to risk being spotted than to be caught unawares.

One foot’s braced on the edge of the roof, but Slade turns away from the relatively easy gap between the buildings to face the Bat instead. He drops his bag, just in case they’re skipping the conversation part of things this time and going straight to the fight.

He still cuts a dramatic enough figure standing there, but Slade doesn’t often find himself impressed with dramatics. They’ve had this fight before; now they're outside of Bats’ home territory, and knowing the tricks he brings to the table beforehand, Slade’s confident enough in his ability to at least give more than as good as he gets.

Besides, this time the advantage is his, even if Bats hasn’t realized it yet.

“Something I can do for you?” he asks, when Bats doesn’t bother with any kind of a greeting. Suits him just fine.

It’s tempting to pretend that he can’t hear the low growl of Bats’, “You met with the new owner of the Iceberg Lounge yesterday. Why?” Tempting, but ultimately an insult to them both. Just because a normal person wouldn’t be able to hear him across this rooftop, at that volume, doesn’t mean that Slade can’t.

It’s just a guess, because there’s no way Todd’s careless enough to allow that murder of his to be spied on, but it’s an easy one. One shot of him going into the casino makes drawing that conclusion easy. (And if the Bat had real proof that he’d murdered one of his high-profile villains, he’d have moved in when Slade was unarmed and before the evidence was disposed of.)

“You mean your son?” Slade says, instead of answering. “Interestingly impersonal way to talk about him; rumors of that big fight must have been true.” He shifts, slowly reaching down into his bag and retrieving his tablet from within. Bats stiffens, but doesn’t attack; must already be wary of him. “I heard Red Hood took some nasty injuries in that one.”

“What was the meeting about?” Bats demands. Single-minded to the end, but angry. Whether he wants to admit it or not, that struck a nerve.

Slade shrugs, the tablet unlocking at his fingertips. "Business. Not yours."

"Your kind of _business_ has no place in Gotham."

The security feed pops up smoothly enough. Todd, working at one of the couches in his new office, a plate of food still faintly steaming to the left of his laptop. The angle doesn't allow a view on what he's working on; good. Slade's got no intention of letting _Wayne_ get close enough to see what his kid's doing, but undoubtedly that mask of his has recording features.

"My kind of business pops up in your city all the time," he comments, with a snort. "Your kid's got some of it now; if I didn't take it, someone else would have."

Bats doesn't move, but his hands shift to hide under the fall of the cape, the angle of his shoulders suggesting he's pulling something from back behind him. Probably those damned gauntlets that he brought out, last time they fought. A pain to deal with, but he's not planning on fighting this time around. Live stream up, all important information off screen, detonator hidden in the palm of his other hand. Good to go.

"You're not going to do anything in my city," Bats growls, weight shifting to a more aggressive stance. "You'll leave, or I'll deliver you to Commissioner Gordon myself."

As if he could do it. As if they could hold him any better than Arkham managed.

"No you won't." He flips the screen, showing off the stream. "You wouldn't want to risk _Jason's_ life, would you, Wayne?"

If the Bat were any stiller, he'd be a statue.

The mask hides it, but Slade smiles anyway. "No, didn't think so." He turns off the screen, and kneels down to store the tablet away. "It's a simple arrangement. You try and force me out of Gotham, or sic your police friends on me, and I'll make sure your boy dies. Trust me, I've got the better reflexes, Wayne."

"If you think I'm just going to let you commit murders with impunity—”

"Murder?" he echoes. He slings the bag over his shoulder, getting back to his feet. "I don't remember doing any of that. But if I did, well, it'd be your son's orders, wouldn't it? I only kill the people I'm hired to."

His sight's good enough to see the tightening of the Bats' jaw. No answer, though. Not even a try. Good, that's the result he wanted.

"Like I said: simple arrangement." Slade turns away, though he keeps an ear out for any attack. "If you change your mind, though, you know where to find me. Till next time, Wayne."

He drops off the building, catching a ledge on the way down to slow the descent enough to land. A few blocks by the alleys, then he'll get back to the rooftops to keep out of the way of the civilians, and the not-so civilian. Batman won't follow him, not with that threat hanging over his caped shoulders. He'll need time, at the least, to come up with a strategy he thinks will work. Some way to take him out of the picture, without compromising Todd's safety.

The stalemate will last long enough for his purposes.

The trip back to the casino is otherwise complication-free, and Todd's still at the couch when he comes in through the balcony's doors. Food's gone; there's water in its place, but that looks like it's getting ignored judging by the pool of condensation at its base.

He doesn't even glance up from the laptop when Slade comes in, just says, "Got everything?"

Slade tosses back a, "For now," as he crosses to the fake fish tank. A simple button press triggers it to slide open, from the controller he rigged up through Todd's security system. "What about you, kid? You all set for your big reveal?"

A roll of his shoulder tosses his bag of gear to the bed, before he starts to strip out of the Ikon suit.

"Yeah, everything's good to—” The kid cuts off with a suspicious choking noise.

Slade turns enough to look back, raising an eyebrow. The kid's leaned onto the couch, coughing out what he has to assume was either thin air or spit, considering the glass is still untouched. It only takes a couple seconds for the reason to become clear, with a glance of eyes his direction and a sharp flush spreading over Todd's cheeks.

Cute; the kid's easily flustered. The suit's still hanging at his hips, and there are briefs below that. He's hardly naked. Might be entertaining to see how red _that_ might make the kid turn, though.

"Need a hand?" he teases, making no effort to hide his grin.

Todd waves him off, other hand pressed over his mouth to muffle the last few coughs. His gaze is skittering away, though, refusing to take more than very brief glances at him. So, the kid _is_ interested. Good to know; another similarity between him and his brother to note down.

He turns his head away, but the sharp intake of breath that comes when he shoves the suit down over his hips is more than audible. A pass of his fingers through his hair shakes it out, as he crosses to the small closet installed within one of the walls and pulls out a suit. Let the kid have a moment to remember how to breathe.

When Slade turns back around Todd's not looking at him anymore, but the set of his shoulders and the slightly turned angle of his head says he's absolutely paying attention. Slade takes his time moving over, shutting the door to the panic room behind him before he comes up behind Todd, at the couch. He drapes his suit jacket over the couch, buttoning up the cuffs of the dress shirt as Todd sits there, suspiciously still for all he's trying to look like he's paying attention to the laptop on his thighs.

After he's got the cuffs arranged to his liking, Slade leans down and crosses his arms over the back of the couch, behind Todd's shoulders. They tighten a little further, but the kid doesn't pull away. Of course not, that's the thing about young, gay boys and their little illicit attractions. They like to flirt with the things they know they shouldn't be interested in, especially when that interest flirts back. Slade's played with enough of them to know exactly how the game works, give or take some adjusting.

Women do it too, but not with quite as much fearful tension as some of the boys. They've each got their charms.

It'll be interesting to see where Todd falls on the scale of all this. He's certainly young, certainly more fluid than just 'gay,' and at the least a lot less confident than his older brother. Inexperienced, would be Slade's guess. But he does look good in that suit.

"Ran into your 'dad' on the way back," Slade says, watching the side of the kid's face for a reaction. He gets one; a sharp flash of surprise, followed by a tightening jaw and a tilt of the kid's head towards him. Angry, and listening. "Tried to chase me out of Gotham; he doesn't know anything but that we met."

Todd's response is a careful, "But you made it here. What happened?"

"Wasn't hard. I know how to handle the Bat, kid." He leans a bit closer in, drops his voice. "I just told him that if he came after me, I'd kill you."

Todd takes a breath, slow and measured. His head turns a bit further, enough to get one blue-green eye looking at him. "Will you?"

Slade shifts, lifting the closer hand to reach around and take Todd's chin, twisting his head a little further. He smiles, swiping his thumb just under the kid's mouth. "Oh, I'd give it a try. But only if I have to. You hired me, kid. Till that's done, I'm yours."

To Todd's credit, he doesn't flinch. Just stays still under his grip, pulse heightened but otherwise holding steady. "Good to know where I stand."

He is cute. And he knows how to stand his ground. Not the smartest about the flirting, though.

"I figured you'd appreciate that," Slade murmurs, lingering a couple moments extra with Todd's jaw warm under his fingers, letting the tension sit there in the mere handful of inches separating their faces. It only takes that long for the kid's gaze to shift down to his mouth in a rapid flick of motion, breath hitching almost imperceptibly.

Then he lets go.

"I assume you're expecting a visit from dear old dad?" he asks, straightening up and grabbing the suit jacket to shrug it on.

It takes a beat for the kid to gather himself. "Uh, yeah." The laptop closes with a click, and Todd gets up, maybe a little jerkily. "Casino reopens tonight, and the informal interview will happen then too. Just a couple hours. Once things are running, and I'm back here, that's when he'll stop by."

Explaining it seems to settle him, nerves fading as the strategy lays itself out. Kid does have a hell of a mind for strategy; Slade's known that since the Society sent him to deal with Black Mask, back when the Red Hood first came to town. He might've changed from body armor to a suit and tie, but clearly that mind hasn't changed.

"Want me anywhere specific for any of this?"

Todd dips his head, and rests a hand on the corner of the couch as he moves to stand beside it. "Here. Don't want you caught on camera, and if anything goes wrong…” A breath, and the kid shakes his head. "It won't. He won't do anything. He won't have the option."

Slade takes in that stiffness, and the curl of fingers against the couch. There's something more there than just nerves. Kid's afraid, behind the confidence he's throwing up. Not much, but a little. Like the flinch of someone expecting to get hit a second time.

He'd guess it's something to do with that big fight he heard about. The one to chase Red Hood out of Gotham. The one that's stopped the kid from putting that mask back on.

"I'll settle in with a nice book," he teases, letting the kid think he didn't notice any of it. Let him keep his pride. "Have fun, kid. I'll be here when you're done. Or if you need me."

The kid exhales, meets his gaze. "That's what I'm paying you for, isn't it?"

"Here I thought it was just to improve the ambiance." The kid snorts, and he offers a smirk. "I'll start unpacking. Call if you want anything, kid."

He gets as far as turning away before Todd says, "You know, I'm not a kid."

"Something else I should call you?" he asks, without stopping.

Todd takes a second to answer, enough for Slade to glance back and see the kid's smirk. "How about 'sir'?"

Slade laughs. "Keep dreaming, kid."

**Author's Note:**

> [Skalidra's tumblr](https://skalidra.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Firefright's tumblr](https://firefrightfic.tumblr.com/)


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